Lithium
by Abagail Snow
Summary: The point of the procedure was to ensure this would never happen. Mindless robots were easier to control. Yet she knows she loves him. But how? She was never supposed to be able to. (AU-Panem)


_This is an idea based on the premise of Delirium in which Katniss and Peeta actually undergo a procedure to temper their moods. A lot of the science is influenced by some of the research of Michio Kaku as well as my basic understanding of the brain and signal processing. For promptsinpanem's captive day._

* * *

"The brain is nothing but a 20 watt computer." The administrator pauses, clasping her hands together in front of her pressed navy uniform. The rubber soles of her shoes are silent as she paces three rehearsed steps across the front of the classroom, and when she stops, her eyes never seem to focus on anything. "Advancements in technology have made it possible to harness and optimize brain function."

Katniss stifles her laughter, lifting her hand to shield her smile before anyone can see.

It's a funny way to put it. "Optimize brain function." Most of them call it the brain fry. When they jam a microchip up your nose to regulate your emotions and keep you from getting too rowdy. The procedure is mandatory so there's no reason to sugar coat it. May as well lay it out for what it is: Mindless robots are easier to control.

She slouches further in her seat and taps her finger against the dead screen in front of her.

"The aptitude test you'll be taking this afternoon will fit you with a device that will help you reach your maximum potential based on skill set."

Her eyes scan the room. There or twenty or thirty kids around her age, all sitting at their testing consoles with the same look of disinterest. Everyone knows they'll end up in the military reserves. There aren't many people over sixteen who aren't called "soldier" in the new Panem.

"Additionally for this jurisdiction, to encourage genetic diversity, you'll be providing a sample for your official pairing."

One of the side effects to the procedure is a suppression of emotional response. Although it really isn't a side effect if the effect is on purpose.

It's District Thirteen's belief that most conflicts are the result of passion outweighing logic. When the districts rebelled against the Capitol 25 years ago they were fueled by anger. The Capitol flaunted their wealth while the rest of the districts starved - even throwing them into Games for their own amusement.

The rebellion was futile until District Thirteen stepped in as an ally. Nobody knew of their existence except for the Capitol. The two powers had held a silent truce for fifty years, but during the Rebellion of the Silver Anniversary - the 50th year of that regime's rule, the closing of key supply lines from the districts left the Capitol too vulnerable to sustain Thirteen's attack.

When the war ended, the districts thought there would be a new democratic order that they would establish on their own. But Thirteen had too much invested to see their naive allies fail. They would be the ones to put a government in place, and eventually, they absorbed the districts under their own rule. The United Districts of Panem it was called.

Those who had fought for their freedom didn't like this new form of oppression. District Thirteen was not as lavish and wasteful as the Capitol, and those who lived in poverty all of their life finally found food on their table, and access to things they'd never had before. But with new freedoms came new losses. The government told them where to work, shutting down establishments deemed unnecessary. Customs and religions were dissolved, and everything became regulated from what to eat, to how many children were required per household.

When unrest began to result again, Thirteen developed an experimental procedure to suppress brain chemicals. If the people of Panem weren't happy, they'd regulate that too.

The only hiccup to their plan was that people with fried brains weren't all too interested in reproducing.

Katniss's eyes flit up to meet Peeta Mellark's and she looks away when she feels her cheeks turn hot. This interaction between them is occurring with greater frequency, and as the procedure and pairings draw nearer, the weight behind his stare leaves her feeling uneasy.

Based on their features, they'd be a likely match, but that isn't a guarantee. Katniss is a second generation - meaning her parents were genetically paired, while Peeta's parents toasted before Thirteen's regime.

There aren't many first gens under sixteen left, and nobody's sure how many generations will be required until Thirteen declares Twelve "properly blended." Apparently there are several strings of genetic markers they'd like to diversify, even threatening to redistribute citizens from other districts to balance the population.

District Twelve is the only one to require pairings by DNA. Every other district gets to submit a list of requests. A blood test is still standard, but it's rare not to be paired with your first or second choice.

With Twelve, however, severe class lines led to half a town with colorless steel eyes, and the other pale as snow in hair and complexion.

"It's a wonder you aren't all sickly," District Thirteen officials had exclaimed.

No one from the Seam wanted to lay with a Merchant, and the same could be said of the Merchants too. When the pairing system was first announced, there was a flurry of quick weddings and births to maintain pure blood lines.

The fuss seems silly to Katniss. It doesn't matter who they'll marry, they'll feel all the same. Nothing.

She presses her finger against the sample pad on her test dock, flinching when she feels blood draw from the tip.

* * *

When she leaves the testing site, Gale is waiting for her at the bottom of the steps. He eyes the other candidates and then shakes his head.

"You think you passed?" he says wryly.

The test is impossible to fail. It's all for placement anyway. "Sure hope so," she mumbles, brushing past him.

He falls in step with her. "When's the big day?"

"Next week. I still don't know the official time."

"Remember you want Technician 451. He's one of ours," Gale says. "Let me know what day your appointment is and I'll make sure he's scheduled."

"Okay," she says, but he must not believe her with the frown she can't help flashing.

He stops her with a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to face him. "You're not thinking about backing out, are you?" he says, eyeing her suspiciously. "You know what's out there - on the other side. People don't want to be prisoners anymore, and we can help them."

The other side of the fence. She can't see it from here, but she can picture it vividly. She's been out there a hundred times. She and Gale were the ones who scouted weaknesses in the fence and found a clearing deep in the woods that was suitable for a settlement.

It was a pipe dream, thinking they could live in the wild. Back then it was only going to be her and Gale along with their families. Nobody would have missed a small handful of escapees, but their numbers are close to a hundred now. It's no longer a well kept secret. There are raiders actively hunting them.

Katniss can barely remember what it was like before. When those who resisted the procedure lived among the cured in secret.

Her father would sing the songs of Old Panem to her, the ones that everyone else had forgotten. There wasn't any use for music anymore. Only when she was certain she was completely alone would she allow herself to hum the sweet melodies.

Her parents were technically paired. Their tests registered as compatible, and their marriage was approved, but they had fallen in love before the government had intervened. It was one of those all consuming types of things that Katniss could never understand. They would have spent their whole lives together anyway, but the thought of not loving one another was enough for them to put their lives on the line.

They hid their deception well, lots of people in Panem did. But when her father died in a tragic machine accident, the grief her mother showed was like a neon sign flashing: NOT FIXED.

Her mother killed herself before she could be made an example of.

After that, the devices were modified to be read on demand, and routine scans were performed to identify those without them. These auditors dress in civilian clothes so you never see them coming, but it isn't hard to spot them. Katniss sees one now and he seems to see her too.

He approaches them briskly. "Identify," he says.

Katniss rolls up her shirt sleeve to expose the printed bar code on her wrist. It's a temporary one, which will be removed once her chip is installed. The auditor's handheld device beeps, and she sees her information appear on the small screen.

Gale is next. The auditor holds the scanner beside his temple and waits for it to read. His report is far more detailed than Katniss's with a bunch of chemical names along with concentration percentages.

"As you were," the auditor says with a formal nod then steps away.

Gale mimics a zombie walking until Katniss cracks a smile. He's got a dummy device in there that may as well be a random number generator. This genius Beetee in District 3 came up with them. It's the same model that Katniss is to be implanted with next week if she goes through with the plan.

After that they'll be paired, and they'll help those who want to avoid the procedure escape. And maybe someday they'll leave for good too. All so they're free to feel. They'll spend the rest of their lives running from the raiders, but at least they'll know what if feels like to be afraid.

Sometimes Katniss doesn't think the brain fry is so bad. She was too young to really understand her father's death. She mourned for him, but her sadness felt foreign at times. It was nothing compared to the devastation her mother felt. She never lost the will to live, not like her.

Love and anger and sadness all seem like such pointless things. At sixteen, she's dealt with them enough to know that she wouldn't miss them much. If selling her soul means protection, a home, and food on the table, she's willing to pay that price.

She'd prefer that to dragging her sister through the wilderness, hoping they'd make it through the night without a bullet in their heads.

A week later when she's assigned her time, she doesn't tell Gale, and when she enters the facility she accepts a technician whose number isn't 451.

* * *

When she wakes up, it takes a moment for her mind to find the rest of her body. She lifts her hand and holds it in front of her face, her fingers wiggling an extra second after she's thought it. The delay makes her dizzy and she shuts her eyes tightly, but even that takes longer than it should.

"Oh, you're awake," the nurse says, seemingly oblivious to Katniss's discomfort. She presses a small tablet into Katniss's hand and swipes her finger across it to trigger the screen to life. "Here. You need to calibrate."

Katniss's thumb begins to twitch, thumping against a target on the screen. Her eyes widen. "What's happening? I'm not doing that."

"We need to calibrate the voltage response of your synapse," the nurse says dully. "You're experiencing a delay because the switch in our processor is set to a different threshold then your natural potential."

"But you can control my movements?" she says with growing alarm. "I didn't know you could do that."

"The messaging through the thalamus is fairly straightforward. We can intercept and generate both sensory and motor skills from there. Motor skills are easier to quantify than feelings though. We send a signal to your chip and adjust the voltage until your response time falls within spec."

Katniss's eyes remain trained on where her thumb taps the screen. Stop. Stop! STOP! She commands, but the implanted computer maintains control.

The nurse seems satisfied by something, and she presses a button on the side of the tablet, killing the screen and causing Katniss's hand to go limp. This time when her thumb twitches, she's the one moving it. She wiggles all of her fingers in a fluid motion and for a moment she almost feels relief.

"And now we're online," the nurse says, addressing another monitor. "Your adrenaline is awfully high - no worries." She clicks a menu on her screen and selects a profile.

In an instant, Katniss's heart rate slows and she relaxes against her seat. A moment ago she felt anxious about something, but it seems silly now.

* * *

The procedure doesn't impact her life as much as she thought it would. Katniss has always considered herself to be a practical person, and the procedure is only designed to emphasis those traits.

It isn't until she receives her pairing recommendations that her body begins to feel foreign. Marriage has been the furthest thing from her mind, and she had planned on deferring for two years, as is allowed in the system. That's why Gale's name appears on her list. He's been waiting for her.

There are five to choose from. Gale, Thomas Ashburn, George Bishop, Alvin Kimball, and Peeta Mellark. She knows of all of them, but they're little past acquaintances. She's close with Gale, obviously, but he'll be angry with her - and for good reason. She betrayed his trust and it isn't right to lie to people. It only complicates things.

Gale is too volatile anyway with his big ideas and uncured temper. Everyone else on this list is a suitable match. It doesn't matter who she picks, the device will do the work to keep them compatible. Yet, when she stares at one name on the list she feels a tickle in the back of her mind that she can't shake.

She fills in the rankings placing a 1 next to Peeta's name and a 5 next to Gale's then quickly submits the form before she can change her mind.

* * *

The word marriage doesn't exist anymore. She has to keep on reminding herself of that. Weddings are nothing but empty ceremonies filled with rituals that were established so many generations ago, no one truly knows the meaning behind them.

One of these traditions was called a "Toasting." Where you'd break bread and toast it over a flame. Her mother and father would do it every year on the anniversary of their first one. "It doesn't feel real until you do," her mother had told her as she stroked her hair and told stories of the greatest loves to change the world.

On the day of her pairing, Katniss goes to the justice building by herself for her housing assignment and key.

The housing district is a tight row of boxes, each home indistinguishable from the next. And she identifies hers by number alone.

Peeta is already there. He looks up from where he stands in the small alcove kitchen, and gives her an acknowledging nod, which she returns.

There are two bedrooms in the unit. One for them to share and one for their children when they have them.

They're in a population maintenance period, as the country can't sustain too much growth at once - the regime is still fairly new and numerous studies have been released to document the load of manpower the economy can support for the next 100 years. This means that while it's likely they'll be required to bear children, when and how many will depend on a variety of factors. Mortality rate and occurrences of multiple births within the district being the primary.

Katniss places her suitcase on the bed and unbuckles the hinges to unload a set of uniforms. She's been assigned to the military. Soldier Everdeen, her name is now. Or Mellark, she supposes. Thirteen still hasn't found an effective way to phase out surnames.

Peeta was found to have a meticulous attention to detail and basic understanding of chemical compounds and ratios - not enough to join the laboratories, but enough for food prep at the rations headquarters. His set of uniforms are already hanging in the closet.

She grabs the remaining empty hangers and goes to work doing the same. A periodic flash along the edge of the headboard catches her eye. She steps closer, cocking her head to inspect it. The spiral carving in the wood isn't an aesthetic detail. There's a wire that embeds into the tracing from the frame to the end of the coil. The light flashes more quickly now that she's beside it, and when she steps away it slows again. It's a giant sensor, probably intended to monitor them.

She returns to the living room where Peeta has prepared a meal. Most rations are pre-packaged, but some goods are fresh when available. He's only had to reheat the pod of stew that came with the day's delivery.

There's a bowl waiting for her beside him at the table. It's a kind gesture, but her first thought is "Why wouldn't he?" He was already preparing one serving, it would have been inefficient not to make both.

"Thank you," she mumbles anyway.

"Was the wait long at the justice building?" he says when he's finished his stew.

She takes another bite. "No," she says. She looks at him and then away. "I hear it's going to rain tomorrow."

He nods.

And then there's no more talking, because there doesn't seem to be a point.

* * *

When Katniss was enlisted into Thirteen's military, she figured she would be learning to fire weapons, or running laps until the soles of her feet bled. Instead, she sits in a classroom day in and day out reviewing every practiced military strategy in the history of war.

Every terrain. Every weapon. Every language of code to crack. Katniss wonders what's out there that they're so afraid of, and maybe they're wondering that too.

Don't be afraid of what's unknown. Just know everything. It may as well be their motto.

The cafeteria is always quiet. Sometimes there are a few debates about battles that were discussed in class, but most keep to themselves. Katniss usually sits by the window and catches herself staring out it often.

The bread for her sandwich is good today and she wonders if Peeta made it. She should tell him that it came out well, but then what? He's only using a recipe.

Someone sits on the bench across from her. Gale.

He's been classified as a maintenance worker, as he usually finds a way to rig broken things into working again.

"Soldier," he says flatly.

She holds his gaze, but remains silent.

"Your response still buffering? No need to overload a circuit, I was just saying hello."

Judging by the roughness in his voice, Katniss knows he's not here for pleasantries.

"The plan was never going to work," she says plainly.

"It might've," he argues. "If you hadn't backed out, maybe."

He's trying to make her feel guilty. She can feel the waves threatening, but her gaze remains cool. "Your entire system is irrational," she says. "Crops, shelter, supplies. It'll take a lot of smuggling to get the things you need over the fence. And what comes after that? How will you all make decisions? How will you protect yourselves from predators?"

There's concern etching his brow now. "Why didn't you say all of this before?"

She blinks. "I was afraid," she says.

"Guess it worked then." He pushes off the table to stand. "Don't worry about me," he says, and the joke isn't lost on her.

* * *

She doesn't dream anymore. That's the change she notices most. Sleep is like blinking. A flash of darkness, with more lost time. Sometimes in the morning, she'll lay in bed longer than she should, and stare at the ceiling, wondering all the dreams that she's missed. She recreates the ones from before the procedure in her mind. But the details are never right, and the wonder they once held isn't there. And one day she stops trying.

* * *

One thing Katniss always noticed about her parents was how affectionate they were. They were always connected somehow. Sides touching when they sat on the sofa. A hand on the hip when they stood in the kitchen. Fingers brushing from across the table. There was this intimacy they shared through a single look.

When she looks across the table at Peeta, she can't recall a time they've even touched. Before the procedure, she remembers feeling something when he looked at her, but she could never figure out what that emotion was.

Staring at him now, she tries to work out the details that could have rendered a reaction from her. His face is reasonably symmetric, which is aesthetically pleasing. His shoulders are broad, suggesting strength, which is a desirable attribute when it comes to mating -

His eyes flit up to catch hers, and for a moment she feels that fuzzy feeling - enough for her cheeks to darken with heat. But then it's gone.

A week later she sees him naked. She's not paying attention when she goes into the washroom, and she walks in just as he's stepping out of the shower. And then she sees him. All of him, right there.

It's not a big deal, she tells herself. It's the way a man looks, even if she's never seen one that way before. He's unfazed by her presence, giving only a short "hey" before brushing past her for his towel.

The fuzzy warmth emerges again, and that night she kisses him, brief and chaste.

"What was that for?" he says.

She pulls the covers over her body and props her head on her pillow. "I don't know," she says to the ceiling.

* * *

He slips something from his jacket pocket and drops it on the table in front of her. She unwraps the cellophane to reveal a cheese biscuit, which they'd served the day before.

"You really seemed to like them," he says.

She smiles.

* * *

She begins to dream. It's been more than a year, and it's nothing more than a flashing of images, but they're colorful and vivid and deliciously real.

When she wakes, she's still trapped by sleep's hold. Her breasts are tender, aching when the thin fabric of her nightgown stretch against them. She rolls onto her side and clenches her hand between her legs to dull the quiet throb that's settled there. Something's happening to her. This isn't right.

She's on edge through breakfast. Her fingers tremble as she unwraps their rations, and Peeta has to steady her hands. But then he lingers, and the heat she felt earlier, in bed, begins to swell.

He kisses her hard. His hands cage her hips against his, fingers feeling like fire against her waist. She opens her mouth to him when she feels his tongue against her lips. She's never kissed anyone before, but something deep within her knows exactly what to do.

Her knees turn to jelly and she catches herself on the edge of the chair behind her to keep steady as she gives herself to him.

"Something's happening to me," she tells the nurse later.

The woman positions a flat white sensor beside her temple, causing the monitor across the room to flash with numbers.

"You're in a mating cycle," the nurse says plainly. "There was a call for children this month and your household was one of the selected. Your and your partner's hormones have been adjusted through the duration." She clicks through a few more screens. "It looks like the district has already made minimums for this cycle, so your levels will return to normal the next time you bleed."

When she's at training, it's as if nothing has changed, but the second she's home her craving returns more insatiable than before. Like the sensors hidden in the walls around her are tuning her every movement like a dial.

She's washing the pot they used to heat up the night's meal, her fingers red and raw from polishing the steel beneath the scorching water long after it'd been clean. It's the only thing she can do to maintain control, especially when she can feel Peeta's eyes on her from across the room. The sponge dissolves in her hand and she bends down to retrieve a fresh one.

Then he's there, behind her, the heat radiating from him so deliriously good it causes the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. His large hand covers her breast to cup it roughly. And then she feels him hard and ready between her legs right where she wants him.

He thrusts against her again and again through their slacks until she can't take it a moment longer. Her deft fingers struggle with the button on her pants and it's a struggle to push them down her thighs, but the second she's free, he's there again, plunging in her from behind.

The sting is enough to make her scream, but her desire to be filled outweighs the pain. His lips are against her throat and one hand at her breast while the other coaxes something wonderful between her legs in a melody with his shallow thrusts. It's all too overwhelming. She's never felt so alive. So wonderfully alive. And then she shatters.

When she bleeds a few days later she almost cries.

* * *

But it doesn't end like the nurse said it would.

A few weeks later he takes her against the wall. At night he makes her come using only his fingers. The pleasure is a waste, she knows. Sex is solely for reproducing. Not this. But she's too swept up in the rush to care. She uses her mouth to return the favor, moaning at the sound of her name on his lips when he releases.

"What's happening to us?" she whispers against his pillow while they lay in bed. She's been audited three times now and her levels always read normal. Dopamine had been the one to spike when she was on her mating cycle, but it barely registers on the sensor, she's looked.

"Have you ever felt this way before?" she asks.

"Horny?" he laughs. "All the time before the procedure. I was a teenager after all. I couldn't tell you how many times I envisioned this exact scenario. Always with you, of course."

"Is this what you were thinking about whenever I caught you staring at me?"

His cheeks darken and he laughs sheepishly. "I didn't think you ever noticed."

"I did."

"I thought about a lot of things when I looked at you. A world of possibilities." He pauses to kiss the tip of her nose then grins. "But mostly this." They both laugh, and when the lull settles, he tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and lets his hand rest against her cheek. "You never did?"

She remembers the little bursts of warmth she used to get whenever she thought of him, but she never knew what to make of it. "Maybe I did. I like it."

* * *

He begins to draw. He takes old paper food wrappers and a dull piece of graphite to sketch images of her so vivid, it's like looking into a mirror. Art hasn't existed in their time, it's another custom that went extinct along with the Capitol, yet he's able to forge these visions into life so effortlessly, it's like his hands were crafted for that purpose alone.

"Where'd you learn how to do that?" she asks.

He grins at her. "Looking at you."

She hates how much she likes it when he says the words. It reminds her too much of how her parents used to act around one another. She knows she returns the warmth she sees in his eyes. She knows she's sinking too deeply into whatever this is.

"My parents weren't cured, you know," she tells him. "They used to teach me about all the traditions from before. Art and music and dancing."

"Could you tell me about it?" he says.

She sings him a song she remembers while he strips her naked, gasping on the lyrics, "Fly, fly, mockingjay, fly," when he enters her.

* * *

He insists that they do it when she tells him about toastings. He swipes her favorite type of cheese biscuit from the packaging facility, and they hold it over the small gas burner on the stove until the edges turn black.

"I remember when I was a kid, I didn't understand what the pairing or the procedure meant," he tells her as the flames lick around their fingertips. "I just knew that I wanted to be with you. And then when I knew, I decided it was okay if you'd never love me back, or that I'd forget how to love you, because we'd be together - if we were paired that is, somehow I always just assumed. We'd have a life together and children, but it never would have meant anything, not without this."

The melted cheese drips down her fingers and she laughs when he feeds her a piece and crumbs dribble down her chin.

She loves him and now it's real, and she's never been happier.

* * *

She graduates from the military education program, which doesn't mean much, except she gets an insignia on her uniform and is assigned to a training squad. Training is rigorous, and much more in line with what she had anticipated when she first enlisted.

They run a lap along the fence around District Twelve's perimeter daily then spend the rest of the afternoon barreling through obstacle courses until the sun sets. The only thing she has to look forward to as she endures this agony is the promise of Peeta's capable hands to sculpt her muscles back to life. The thought makes her smile even though she's so exhausted she can barely convince herself to keep breathing.

She doesn't mind target practice though. She finds out that she has a bit of an ace shot, and while they can't show enthusiasm or favoritism towards her prowess, her almost immediate placement in the sharp shooter squad is as good an indicator as any of her talent.

For the more advanced targets, there's a simulator which generates mobile and stationary targets in every shape and size. Katniss hits every single one on the first shot without flinching, but when the targets become human, her finger hesitates against the trigger.

She isn't programmed to hesitate. She's programmed to quickly assess and act.

She takes a deep breath and fires wide. Then she misses the next human target too.

When the simulation ends her sergeant approaches her. "We'd like to have you evaluated," he says.

She steels her expression because that's exactly what they're looking for. She's malfunctioning, and they can tell.

* * *

A man is found to have a dummy device implanted and is shot on site in the middle of the town square. Gossip isn't popular in District Twelve, but it doesn't take long for news to travel that Technician 451 has been disposed of too.

Katniss begins to feel the walls closing in on her. She hasn't done anything wrong, but she feels an overwhelming guilt. She's afraid.

"What happens when they find out?" she whispers to him from across their pillow because now she's convinced that someone is listening. "They'll take you away from me."

"We'll find a way," Peeta promises her.

In the morning she'll be scanned for irregular brain activity and then they'll know about her condition, and then they'll fix her or separate them or worse.

She remembers what happened to her mother when she lost her father. She shut down. She stopped functioning. Already Katniss can feel it happening to her too.

The threat of losing Peeta is enough to paralyze her with aches of withdrawal.

"We have to get out of her," she says. "We have to go."

* * *

She doesn't go to her appointment. When the system registers that she's missed it, they'll probably start tracking her, which means she doesn't have much time.

She can't find Gale no matter how hard she looks. She goes to his house and the places where he was usually assigned, but it's as if he never existed. He's already on the other side.

It's fine though, she already knows how to get there. She can do this herself.

When she tells Peeta of the plan, he's uncertain. "What about the devices?" he says. "They could blow us to bits or track us at the least."

"We'll be out of range," she says. "They have degaussers at the camp to kill the tracker."

It's late enough in the morning that she knows the path along the fence is clear of soldiers. She's run this lap so many times, she knows where all the weaknesses are too. One's along the path she scouted with Gale.

The fence is humming with electricity, and impenetrable to those not looking for a way out. But through this patch of overgrown shrubbery, the chain links curl away from the earth just enough for a person to pass through. Their freedom is a few feet away, so long as they can run fast enough once they reach the other side.

Peeta catches her arm when she moves towards it. "Wait," he says, pulling her against him to kiss her one more time. "I'll go first," he says.

He carefully steps down the hill and beneath the chain link, but he doesn't make it far before there's a loud snapping sound that makes her scream.

He's touched the fence.

She slides his body back up the hill and away from the smoldering wire. He doesn't wake when she tries to startle him. And when she places her ear against her chest she can't tell if he's breathing, let alone whether his heart is still beating. She shakes him again desperately and bangs her small fists against his chest.

"Stay with me," she murmurs against his forehead, then holds his limp body in her arms.

This was stupid, so stupid. They never should have tried to leave.

They'll never get out of this now. What was she thinking? She wishes that her device wasn't broken and that she'd never fallen in love with him, and that they could walk around like strangers again, because at least he would be safe.

She thinks she may hear him groan or see his finger twitch, but she's heaving and sobbing so frantically she can barely tell the sky from the ground.

She does hear one thing though. A pattering of footsteps behind her that grows heavier and heavier the closer they get.

"Freeze!" a Thirteen soldier is demanding.

"You have to help him," Katniss begs, tears streaming down her face. "Please help him. I need him. Please."

"Freeze!" he repeats.

Katniss hugs Peeta against her body, unwilling to let him go. She needs to know that he's okay, she needs to protect him. She eyes the soldier. He must have a reader. She knows that she can change Peeta's settings. Make him happy or sad or even tap his thumb. Maybe she can program him to start breathing. Program his heart to beat so hard that it thumps through his chest.

"I need your reader," she demands holding out her hand. "I need to save him. Please."

The soldier pulls something that looks like a radio from his belt. Katniss lunges forward to grab it but then he presses a button saying, "Freeze!" one last time, and her body goes limp, collapsing beneath her weight. The last thing she sees in the corner of her eye is his thumb tap the button again and then everything turns black.

* * *

Her eyes snap open and she's startled by just how silent it is. This isn't her room.

Sound begins to trickle into her ears. The beeps from a monitor. The pumping sound of a compressor. A person's voice.

"She was exhibiting the same phenethylamine compounds as him. We've never seen this one before but it looks like it's an L-DOPA derivative, surprise surprise. The prefrontal cortex lit up on both of them when we scanned for it. No wonder they were going crazy."

Her eyelids are frozen open and she can't blink no matter how hard she concentrates on the task. She's paralyzed. Every inch of her.

"Did you take care of it?"

"Of course. Just had to locate the right enzymes. Her system is synthesizing them on its own now." Something fuzzy comes into her line of vision. A pink face in a white coat. "Would you look at that, she's already awake."

Her eyes snap shut and then open again, but it's a second after she thinks it. At least she's getting some feeling back.

The room sharpens and the doctor appears in front of her with a tablet in hand. "Is the monitor up? Good." He holds up the screen for Katniss to see. She stares at it blankly.

It's a citizen profile of her husband, Peeta Mellark. He's eighteen years old and works in the rations packaging plant. They've been married for eighteen months.

The doctor's gaze remains on a monitor somewhere behind her. He nods content. "Excellent," he says. "Brain activity is back to normal."

He changes menus on the tablet then slips it into her hand. Her thumb comes alive on its own, tapping a target on the screen.

"Time to calibrate."

* * *

Katniss stares at him from across the table. When she looks at him she sees flashes of memories she can no longer conjure. Like there's an entire lifetime locked away, hidden in her mind.

His eyes flit to meet hers, striking her with a pleasant warmth that fades so quickly she can't be sure it was ever there.

"Spring will be here soon," she says vacantly. "It will be warmer."

Peeta picks up his biscuit to take a bite. It's the one stuffed with garlic and a soft cheese, which she prefers over the other usual offerings. He pauses to stare at the roll for a brief moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sets it down and finishes his glass of water.

"I'll be sure to wear a lighter coat," he says in reply.

And then there's no more talking, because there doesn't seem to be a point.

* * *

_Find me on tumblr (**absnow**) _


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